A Day In The Life Of A Sarcastic Townie
by Irilia
Summary: A point of view from someone who's actually sane in this town. Use of H E Double Hockey Sticks and a reference to being high. Otherwise...BEWARE OF SARCASM! :D
1. Chapter 1: January 8th

**Author's Note:** So it says it's finished, but if readers leave reviews saying they want more I'll add another diary entry to the story. I just didn't want to do overkill since I'm being really sarcastic, and I for one can get tired of sarcasm pretty fast so I didn't want to have a 30 page story full of this. It might have made some people sick. :D (also, I'm one of those people who has ADHD without actually having ADHD so I couldn't focus long enough to write more than one. :D)

* * *

**Saturday, January 8****th**

Dear Diary,

Okay, I knew this town was going to be weird. It feels like it's for little kids; it celebrates holidays that make no real sense and this town is full of talking animals. Awesome in theory… _not_ so awesome in real life. It makes it harder to tell when you're high.

So, not quite knowing what to expect, I walk outside today and everyone's skipping around singing_._ Freaking _singing_. This isn't High School Musical or Grease, or even Glee. This is Saturday, January eighth.

I wander over to the bulletin board in the hopes of figuring out what in the hell is going on. Oh, great! It's La-Di-Da-Day. Well, let me get into the spirit, then! La-Di-Fricking-Da! And the animals are asking me to choose their song as the 'town tune'. What in the hell is a town tune? Whatever it is, since this town seems to change everything in accordance to my will, I probably made it. Therefore, I like it. So please... stop harassing me.

Oh yeah, and that annoying catch phrase that horse Victoria is constantly saying? 'Sugar cube', I believe? Ditch that, please. And that weird Spanish fighter mask you constantly wear.

* * *

Oh, come _on_. I'm _trying_ to fall asleep here! Why can't you animals shut up? I'M NOT PICKING YOUR TUNE. Also, Insurance Agent guy. It's eleven at night; you can go now. I'm not buying any bee sting insurance. It's not that bad when I get stung,_ okay_?

Another thing I learned today, diary? That Tom Nook guy; he's a total cheapskate. He wouldn't pay for my pitfall seeds! I mean, seriously - there's nothing wrong with them. _Nothing_. I got some real good laughs out of that trick. Did you not see those guys flailing around breaking a sweat because they were waist deep in a hole they couldn't just hoist themselves out of? I at least got myself out. I didn't even know I could front flip like that. Or that the holes magically fill back up when you flip out of them.

Now that I think about it, I may actually be on drugs. I hope so. That means this will all have been a bad dream.

**Author's note: Guess what? There's a review button...right there. CLICK IT PLEASE. :)**


	2. Chapter 2: January 12th

**Author's Note: I looked up what the hair dryers were called, and they are **_**actually **_**called hard hat blow dryers. That amuses me. :D**

Wednesday, January 12th

Dear diary,

I went over to Nookway today to buy some bug repellent, which it turns out they don't have. Of _course _they'd expect us to squash dirty cockroaches with our feet here. To my surprise, Nookway had turned into this huge department store called Nookington's, seemingly overnight. But of course, it still sold nothing I needed in the furniture department upstairs. I did have the lovely experience of having two echo machines that both looked exactly like a miniature Tom Nook follow me around incessantly, persuading me to buy things. Oh, joy!

I noticed something downstairs I hadn't seen before - a hair salon! Finally, something worth looking at besides the scenery, which I will admit, despite its inhabitants, is rather colourful and luxurious. When I wander into the salon I'm greeted by a poodle that talks in a southern accent and insists I sit in the chair on the left. Oh well. I finally get to have an adult luxury besides drinking coffee (for two hundred bells, of course. Assuming that this currency has the same value as dollars, that's pretty damn expensive_)_.

So this poodle - I purged her name from memory after this bad experience - is asking me questions about myself. I think, okay, she's making conversation. There's nothing wrong with that; all hairdressers do it. Why did it _not _occur to me she isn't asking me what I want?

When she's done asking all of her questions she pulls a huge hard hat blow-dryer over my head. It rattles and whacks me on the head a couple of times, whilst shooting smoke and steam, which judging by her lack of reaction seems to be a normal reaction for it. This, quite frankly, worries me deeply right away. When the blow-dryer comes up, I've got three ponytails sticking out of random areas on my head. And what's worse, my hair is freaking _white. _Old granny, chicken coop camouflage white.

This lady tells me that the questions she were asking were to see what I wanted based on my inner soul, or some crap like that. Are you kidding me? And she still made me pay her a thousand bells. I'm now stuck looking like an aged freak. Thank you, hairdresser lady! You have my eternal gratitude. Not.


	3. Chapter 3: February 1st

**Author's Note: So this is based on how I was entirely flabbergasted looking at my characters face after my first bee sting. When you review, be sure to say if you were as shocked as I was when you saw it for the first time. :D**

Saturday, January 24

Dear Diary,

Okay, so remember in my first diary entry how I said that it wasn't that bad when you got stung by a bee? Well, these bees are mutants. You can have allergic reactions by looking at one. Sadly, I didn't know that because no one tells you anything in this damn town about preventing a problem until _after _it has already happened.

I was walking around bullying the crap out of the elements around me (money comes out of rocks when you whack them with shovels, but only for a couple of seconds. This is totally the stuff of lottery commercials but I'm okay with it) and I decided to shake a tree to see if I was going to get a magic morphing leaf that turns into furniture as soon as you put it in your pocket, which by the way is the equivalent of Hammer space, or a bag of 100 bells. Again, I'm absolutely fine with the free money. Suddenly, what I _believed _to be a stack of logs come flying out of the tree. It is not, as Murphy's Law predicts, a stack of logs. It is a hive of mother freaking bees.

I run for my life after emitting a shocked expression which rolls my eyes into the back of my head and makes comic book spikes appear at the side of my head (I had no idea I was capable of this) but alas, nobody is doing the proper thing by sitting on their butts at home waiting for a visitor. No, they're all about capturing fish and bugs and digging for fossils which appear to spawn below ground everyday! So I inevitably get mauled by a herd of mother freaking bees.

I run home, receiving exasperated, shocked, and frightened looks from passers-by. Looking in the mirror, it appears that one of my eyelids are so swollen that it looks like I have jammed a skin-coloured pirate patch over my eye and then poked it to death. Oh dear mother of God, now I look like a _diseased _aging freak.

I head back outside to face the music in hopes that someone won't just babble deliriously and will actually give me some proper advice. Close, but no cigar! Oh wait, I wasn't close at all. The closest I'll be to free advice is one of the animals telling me that this is the best season for pies or some nonsense like that.

The first person to give me advice is Twitter (yes, Twitter. Shut up, it's not my fault, my parents shipped me here) the bird, obviously. He tells me that I can either go to Tom Nook, who will offer me a remedy for 400 bells, or I can go sleep it off.

I chose the latter option, meaning that I didn't have to spend even more money. I decided to turn in early, ready to wake up looking normal. And I look fine now. But that was one of the most horrible days I've had since I've been here, the worst being the day I realized that my parents weren't coming back after they drove away after telling me that "I needed a vacation".


	4. Chapter 4: February 6th

**Author's Note: How many other people store their clothes in the fridge?**** In Animal crossing of course.**

Friday, February 6

Dear Diary,

Seeing as it is winter, there's snow everywhere. I can't wait to see what kind of monster leaps from the snow. No, really. I want to beat the living crap out of a snow monster to make me feel better.

The first thing I do after going outside is start rolling up those big ass snowballs. When the bottom part reaches the height of my head I have a feeling that it's the 'perfect' snowman and head somewhere else to make another one.

It's really weird, in my opinion, that I must find a previously made snowball in order to make another section of the snowman's body instead of just rolling the snow into another ball. If you can't roll the snow, who makes the snowballs? Once again, some sort of ethereal law of this alternate universe has surpassed the logic of the people who created it. Too many a time have I gotten frustrated when I had to roll a snowball too far and it got too big. But in time like those, you can really just roll them over to the ocean on top of a fish and watch them flounder helplessly despite the fact that they were already surrounded by water anyway.

Miraculously - and for the first time since I've moved here - the process of doing something light hearted and fun works, and I never even have to briefly think about the snowballs. After finishing the snowman, I run backwards and wind up my legs, then go charging at the snowman so that I can, as mentioned earlier, beat the living crap out of it. But just as I am about to go Chuck Norris on its ass, it opens its freaking eyes and scares the living crap out of me. It talks. Why didn't I expect any less from this town?

I stand frozen in front of the snowman, inciting some weird looks from Twitter, Hugh and Mittens, probably because I'm standing in front of a snowman blinking at it in a classic karate pose.

"Why were you going to kick me?" It asked.

"Because it would make me feel better," I replied with asarcastic tone to my voice I hadn't intended. However, I am one of those people who uses sarcasm as a defence against stupidity, so it didn't surprise me.

"Well, maybe you should find a healthier alternative to your problem," the snowman suggested.

"I'm not taking any therapeutic advice from a damn snowman," I said back with my signature sass. I put my leg down all the same, though that was really only so that these pathetic animals could go along with their lives instead of staring at me. Provided they had them, of course.

"Thank you for your kindness!" The snowman suddenly boomed in a voice so loud I cringed. "I will be sending you a piece of furniture for your kindness! Also, you've made me a perfect snowman. Maybe now I can find a snow lady!" I just gawked at him. It wasn't worth explaining to the lump of hardened water that there was only a snow lady if I made a snow lady, and if they all talked, I was heading back to the safety of my home to play solitaire all day on my crappy dial up internet that made the room sound like some sort of rubbish telephone connection.

The next day I opened my mailbox to a fridge, which, like my pockets, is the equivalent of hammer space. Also, apparently the heat settings adjust to whatever you have in there, because whenever I take my clothes and helmets out of there, they aren't frozen.


	5. Chapter 5: February 18th

**As far as I know I have but one reader, but I thank her for being patient. I'm housesitting this weekend and I finally have my own laptop, so maybe I can get a couple of chapters done for this story and the spin off, Say No To Drugs, Kids! So we'll be all good. But thanks.****There's a reason I told you all not to expect much in the terms of consistent updates.**

**Sunday, February 18**

Today was the flea market. I wasted my entire Sunday having people walk around my home trying to buy the same things off of me for measly prices nowhere near the actual value, even if the stuff _was _second-hand. You'd think I was running some sort of cheap department store loaded with my memoirs.

Gone are the memories of eating pancakes in the mornings; lazing around until the horror of what would happen if my grades went down because of unfinished homework caught up with me. There would be no more pancakes if I got an F on the report card. I swear to God, my parents would disown me in the drop of a hat. If only I knew they would disown me to Hell. WHAT DID I DO, GOD? WHAT DID I DO TO DISAPPOINT YOU? Okay, I'm good. I think.

Anyway, some of them tried to buy my TV. My freaking TV. Who does that? WHO DOES THAT? I'm sorry; I had a bit too much caffeine to get me through the day. The animal's lack of intelligence bored me.

They also tried to buy all of my photos. Why do they even want them? You don't KNOW these people. These are MY old friends, not yours. What kind of memories would these photos bring you? I can imagine:  
"That reminds me of the flea market that one day! Oh, what a fun day. Who is this person, though? Oh well! I'm a freaking DUCK! Who cares?"

Yes, they would be reminded of the fact they were animals, whilst I am reminded of the perfect life I had before my parents abandoned me. But whatever, who cares what I THINK?

I need a vacation.

Not this one, Mom and Dad.


	6. Chapter 6: March 2

**March 2, 2010**

I've somehow been able to go through three months without hearing much of about the pop culture around here. And now that I've been introduced, I'm glad.

I went to a K.K. Slider concert in the museum. I most certainly now understand why there is only one seat that is never filled. But you have to have to hear about the whole experience. It isn't just the music, it's the EVERYTHING.

We'll start with the coffee. It tasted off, but I figured, everything is off here. Why break the trend? It's probably some screwed up psychological effect to living with fleas. Maybe the fact that it's too hot. The bartender pretty much had an epileptic seizure when I didn't start drinking it the second the damn cup hit the bar. But whatever, I thought, it's frigging coffee, something adult-like in a little kids messed up world.

After the bird calmed down, I started to drink the coffee. He then proceeded, with the calm manner of a stoner, to tell me he had made it with frigging pigeon milk. I just about spat it out right then and there all over his face. Are you kidding me? Your own milk in the coffee? Who even does that? It was probably poisonous too because I'm human. I could feel the world spinning as I slowly turned around and hopped off the chair.

Unlike a true concert, this white dog named KK Slider - who performs here every Saturday night - made me sit down across the room before he would start playing. And when he did, I wanted to stand up and run. It was horrible. The beats were lovely; don't get me wrong, the dog has talent with a guitar. But he really needs to learn to speak in English, because I didn't understand a single word that Justin Bieber-esque voice said. Though maybe that's a good thing, because I have a feeling these lyrics would have been about puppies and kittens skipping off into the sunset.

At the end of this entire ordeal, he resumed his calm manner and hooked me up with a bootleg. Apparently the fat cats want people to pay for his music but he gives it out for free. I kind of wonder where all this money comes from. I don't ever pay off my mortgage or buy from Tom Nook, but somehow _he_ always has fifty thousand bells on hand to give me when I come in with my crappy fish. How does KK Slider make his money if he gives away music for free?

Well, I'm comfortable with that.


	7. Chapter 7: March 11

**Monday, March 11**

Today happened to be both a fishing and bug tournament. As normal as it may be to have a fishing tourney, this is the only place I can think of where people compete to catch the biggest cockroach.

I _desperately_ wanted to win. I don't even know why, but I did. Possibly because once I won everyone would actually talk to me about some interesting stuff. I've never ever seen anyone so persistently speak about one subject for so long. And as childish as their normal conversation may be, at least it won't be the same three phrases repeated at random intervals, all of which involve me fetching some sort of stupid collector's item for them.

I set out - with my net - on a mission. I knew that the big bugs would be hanging out on the trees so I headed to the orchard of money trees (yes, I am awesome enough to grow a money tree) and listened for the cringe worthy sounds of grasshoppers and some sort of whining baby.

I quickly learned that bugs are skittish creatures. Running by a tree five feet away from the bug will cause it go flying off the tree before rapidly fading into the air. I have no doubt that the 'fresh' air is acidic to bugs here.

With the stealth of a ninja (on meth), I streaked over to the tree and slammed the plastic net down on that sucker. I then proceeded to make my way to the town hall for that old fart of a turtle to inspect it. I respect the fact the bug knew what was good for it and decided to stay in the net the entire time.

Tortimer gave me a mushy lamp that kind of fell apart in my hands because I got the biggest bug so far that day. Whoop-de-doo. The best part about this is, though, is that now everyone's scrambling outside trying to catch a bigger bug. Peace and quiet.


	8. Chapter 8: March 24

**Author's Note: Sorry, guys, but it might soon be time to wrap this story up! I'm running out of things to be sarcastic about…if there are any suggestions, state them in the reviews. I'm having fun writing this so I will gladly elongate the story if there's more things to make fun of! **** Hence the reason this chapter may kinda suck. :P**

**Also..if you don't read my profile, I'll tell you now I only update about once a month because I'm always super busy. I'm usually not home till 7 at night and then I do my homework. Just so ya;ll know. :D**

**March 24**

Dear Diary,

I'm going to tell you something. This is the day I realized everything in my house was completely and utterly useless. My stove only fries eggs. I somehow can't reach to the other side of the table when I try to put things down. My T.V. gets frigging 2 channels-the human news, completely irrelevant to La-Di-Da-Ville. The second is the samurai ninja sports channel. Sorry, but that's the only thing I can interpret it as, because the volume sucks and all I hear is buzzing.

My parakeet? The damn thing won't shut up! My computer has a crappy dial up connection, the type I thought were abolished in 2000. And my computer won't let me use it. All I can do is play solitaire. My sinks have one temperature of water. I have a frigging eye test in my bedroom (don't ask. I was bored, I just took everything I could to fill up the room), but it only goes through one set test. I got bored after two times through. And I only have one choice for my arcade system game.

How do I live? I don't know.

To top it all off, I got a letter from my mother today.

"We're having so much fun on the softball team! I accidently hit Gladys in the head with a softball though…oops!

~ Mom"

No.

Just no. Is she seriously,_ seriously, _having more fun mauling her softball teammates (an act which I'm fairly certain could be a justifiable felony, and at the very least grounds for a reliable lawsuit) then she ever did when I lived it at home?

It was enough to make one stomp around with angry steam clouds shooting out of their heads. Which is exactly what I did. Of course, this would be the day everyone around me approaches me with smiles and musical notes floating around their heads. They all made me take quizzes, and then they gave me a picture of them, even when I gave the most sarcastic answers possible.

I never thought it would be so annoying to be sane.


	9. NOTE

**OMG. I know It's been nearly A month since I've published and I am so sorry. But I think I'm going on hiatus. I don't have time to write anymore, and I'm really sorry if I've dissapointed anyone, but I'm like, going to fall apart at the seams if I still have tow orry about the story. I'll hopefully continue, but, I don't know how long I'll be.**

**Sorry again but (hopefully) thanks for your support!**


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